


thrill me like you do

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2018) [5]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drama, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-25 18:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14384418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Jacob gets off on Pratt’s submissiveness.





	thrill me like you do

**Author's Note:**

> So, I did not warn for rape because Pratt is portrayed as willing in this.
> 
> *However*, said willingness has come on after weeks of torture and conditioning, so consider the consent dubious at best.

Pratt looks at him with a dark sort of uncertainty, and Jacob likes it.  
  
“C’mere, Peaches,” he says, motioning towards himself with his knife.  
  
There’s a wary hesitation there, like a deer who smells a predator but isn’t certain if it’s still in the area. The difference between Staci Pratt and your average whitetail doe, however, is that the doe is free to run from the predator if she wants to live; Pratt’s only option for survival is to run _to_ the predator and embrace him with open arms.  
  
“Relax,” Jacob coos, “No box today, Pratt.”  
  
Pratt does not relax. Smart boy.  
  
“What can I do for you, sir?” He asks, voice reasonably calm and clear, unlike at the beginning when he’d mumble or whimper or choke.  
  
He’s stronger now- still weak, still pathetic in so many ways, but stronger than he was before Jacob had taken him under his wing, under his tutelage. He wouldn’t have bothered if Joseph hadn’t asked; Jacob did not bother with men like Pratt, was not fond of having to keep the deputy so close. All while Pratt had read that scripted statement over the loudspeakers in the park, Jacob had stood behind him and squeezed his shoulders warningly whenever he’d stuttered or mispronounced a word, half-convinced he’d been doing it on purpose to assure anyone listening that the statement had been coerced rather than sincere.  
  
He’s better now, though.  
  
So much better.  
  
“You know what I want.”  
  
Pratt sighs. “How do you want me?”  
  
The chair Jacob’s sitting in isn’t very large, but he scoots aside and pats the seat. Pratt slides in next to him, one leg hooked over Jacob’s knee. He’s still tense, but he’ll be pleasantly surprised to find that Jacob’s in a good mood today, a mood for something a bit less intense than what they usually do together.  
  
“Good boy,” Jacob says, and curls and arm around Pratt’s shoulders and back before kissing him. Pratt responds with practiced enthusiasm, one hand going to Jacob’s chest, then to his lap. He flinches with surprise when Jacob lightly bats his hand away. “Not yet,” Jacob rumbles. He opens the fly of his pants and stuffs his free hand inside, groping roughly.  
  
Close as they are, Jacob can hear and feel Pratt’s breathing increase, chest rising and falling faster as he watches Jacob stimulate himself. “Wish I was touching you like this, Peaches?” Jacob asks, spreading his legs a little wider.  
  
Pratt swallows, doesn’t answer.  
  
Jacob growls lowly, butts his head against Pratt’s cheek. “Answer me, Pratt- and pull my pants down a bit.”  
  
Pratt follows the second order quickly, drags the thick material down until it’s at mid-thigh and Jacob’s cock is completely visible and accessible; the first order he follows with more hesitation. “Yes,” He mumbles, “I wish you would touch me like that.” Jacob is so _terribly_ pleased to hear the low current of shame in Pratt’s voice, the honesty that comes with it. He wants it, and he hates that it’s the truth.  
  
“Well, keep your hands off of your naughty parts for now,” Jacob says, making the order sound like a suggestion because Pratt knows exactly what’s expected of him regardless of what tone Jacob uses.  
  
So Pratt sits back, cheek against Jacob’s shoulder, and watches him jack off. Jacob’s arm, the one around Pratt’s back, squeezes him lightly, wants to keep him present and attentive instead of tuning out; he wants Pratt to be painfully aware and uncomfortable, wants him to get hard from watching Jacob touch himself. “Want me to fuck you later, Pratt?” Jacob asks, now in a fine state of arousal. “Want me to bend you over the desk and pound your ass?”  
  
Pratt shudders, and Jacob smirks. “Yes,” Pratt mutters, sinking into the seat a little, almost hiding his face in Jacob’s shoulder now. “I want that.”  
  
“What do you want me to do?”  
  
“I-” Pratt winces. “I want you to- to pound my ass.”  
  
“And where do you want me to do that?”  
  
“Bent over the desk- I mean, with me bent over the desk,” Prat stutters.  
  
“Aw, it’s alright, Peaches, I know what you meant,” Jacob chuckles, giving himself a long, firm stroke. He glances down, looks between Pratt’s legs, and is quietly delighted to see the younger man hard. He lets go of his cock for a moment and grasps Pratt roughly through his jeans; Pratt yelps, hand coming up to clutch at Jacob’s shirt, smashing his face into his shoulder. “You want this?” Jacob asks, squeezing again and grinning when Pratt keened loudly.  
  
“Yes,” Pratt croaked.  
  
“You want it?”  
  
“Yes, yes, I want it.”  
  
Pratt meant it. He _meant_ it, and Jacob got off on that more than any hand, mouth, or fuckhole that Pratt could offer him.  
  
“Well,” Jacob tilts his head back, like he’s thinking on it, “You know how it is, Pratt: You make me feel good, I make you feel good.”  
  
Pratt hesitates; he hasn’t been given an order, and so he’s waiting for something more tangible, something more direct.  
  
_Good boy._  
  
Jacob meets his eyes. “Go on, go ahead.”  
  
There’s another brief moment of hesitation, like Pratt’s confirming that he has official permission, and then he gets off the chair, gets to his knees like he has many times before, and takes Jacob’s cock into his mouth. He’s good at this, he’s done it enough times that he knows exactly what Jacob likes, knows how to work his cock with his tongue in the best ways that make it feel good, but not so good as to end things too quickly. On other days, he would hold Pratt’s head in place and slam his cock down the younger man’s throat, watch him gag and cough and struggle to breathe and suck at the same time.  
  
Jacob threads his fingers through Pratt’s hair and leans back, shuts his eyes and enjoys himself. He feels good enough to be generous. “You can touch yourself if you want, Pratt,” he says, lightly scratching the Deputy’s head, a soothing motion to sweeten the pot and keep him at least a little happy; conditioning works best with positive reinforcement, and it would be stupid for Jacob not to make it worth Pratt’s while to be a good boy every now and then.  
  
And also, Jacob gets a good show out of it too.  
  
Pratt doesn’t stop working his cock as he fumbles with his belt, trying to get it open and failing. It takes him almost five minutes to actually get it off and his jeans open, and by then he’s whining softly from the frustration of it; and since his mouth is on Jacob’s dick, he feels every sound, and it feels _great._ In fact, it feels so good that he’s a little closer to coming than he’d like to be.  
  
“Pull off, Pratt.”  
  
Pratt obeys, hand frozen on his crotch, maybe thinking he’s done something wrong.  
  
“Go on, touch yourself; just don’t touch me for a bit,” Jacob instructs lazily, even as he watches the young Deputy with sharp eyes. And as usual, Pratt complies, pulls himself out of his pants and strokes himself gracelessly, too wound up to put any care or finesse into it. He wants to get off so bad, so, _so bad_ , and if Jacob wants him to do it, or if Jacob wants him to stop it, he will. Jacob keeps a finger on his cock, stroking with a feather-light touch to keep himself aroused, and watches Pratt work.  
  
When he’s starting to look closer to the edge than not, Pratt utters a soft “ _Fuck_ ”, eyes rolling shut, and Jacob decides to end it.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
Pratt cringes, hesitates, but then reluctantly lets go of his cock like it might actually kill him to do so.  
  
Jacob gestures to his cock. “Get it nice and wet, Peaches, or the finale may be a bit uncomfortable for you.”  
  
_I was right,_ Jacob thinks with a smirk. Pratt wants it _bad_ , because he scoots forward and puts his mouth on Jacob’s cock without a word or moment or protest. Jacob’s fucked him before, and has taken an unspeakable amount of pleasure in making Pratt howl, making him _beg_ for release speared on the end of his cock. What Jacob wouldn’t give to have _that_ on a radio broadcast; he’d be tempted if he didn’t know that Joseph would shit actual, literal concrete blocks over it.  
  
(Actually, that makes it even more tempting.)  
  
Pratt pulls off, looks up at Jacob, chest heaving. “Good?” He asks hoarsely.  
  
Jacob gives an innocent shrug. “You tell me, Pratt: It’s you who’s gonna be fucking yourself on it.”  
  
Pratt looks at him, then to his cock; then to him, and then back again. “It’s fine,” he decides, and maneuvers himself onto Jacob’s lap. He grimaces, though, when he lowers himself onto Jacob’s cock, like it’s not _quite_ slick enough, but he doesn’t stop. Jacob’s head lolls onto the back of the chair, and his hands clamp onto Pratt’s waist. He’s so goddamn _tight_.  
  
“Hurry up,” Jacob grunts, meaning to slap Pratt’s ass and mostly getting his hip. The Deputy complies, goes so much faster and there’s not a hint of the discomfort that had been there before: He looks _blissful_ , if Jacob can be forgiven the pun, except that this sort of bliss is more to his liking than the shit Faith hands out to her followers like candy- or maybe more like meth, judging from what it does to them. And the greatest satisfaction will always be is that whether he’ll admit it or not, Pratt _wants_ it.  
  
“Fuck,” He moans, clutching Jacob’s shoulders. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”  
  
“Take it,” Jacob growled, fucking into him eagerly now. “Take it, Pratt.”

Pratt comes without warning on Jacob’s shirt, and Jacob might have been annoyed by that if it weren’t so _fucking_ hot. Jacob goes right on thrusting, and Pratt moans and whines, over-stimulated in the wake of his orgasm; he cries out with relief when Jacob comes, and the thrusting comes to a stuttered stop. Pratt tips forward, coming to rest against Jacob’s chest, head pressed awkwardly into the space between Jacob’s neck and shoulder. He’s shaking with exertion, and Jacob feels that pride again, that pride that he’d wrecked Pratt so badly and that the Deputy had loved every second of it.  
  
“Good boy, Pratt,” Jacob murmurs, smirking again when Pratt tenses. “Good boy.”

-End


End file.
